


Massage and Moon Pies

by Oceans_Away



Category: Lore Olympus (Webcomic)
Genre: Bathing, Care, Chill, Clitoral massage, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Living Together, Long-Term Relationship(s), Massage, Non-Penetrative Sex, Relaxing, just a couple of gals being pals, partners, sex in the bath, snuggles, soft, sweets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26680999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oceans_Away/pseuds/Oceans_Away
Summary: Hecate and Artemis, long-term partners, live together in Hecate's Underworld apartment. At the end of a long night on lunar duty, Artemis comes home riled and sore. Hecate draws them a bath and gives her a nice relax... sexy styles.Shout out to Lizbian, who introduced me to this ship! It now lives a life of luxury rent-free in my head.Myth note: this fic references Selene, chariot-driving goddess of the moon, and her mortal lover Endymion, who is put into eternal slumber in a mountain cave. Hecate, Artemis and Selene all have strong lunar associations as a group, more ontheoi.com.Song:Moon River - Henry Mancini, Johnny Mercer, & Audrey Hepburn
Relationships: Artemis/Hecate (Lore Olympus)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	Massage and Moon Pies

"She DROPPED me out of the CHARIOT!" 

Artemis came storming into the Underworld apartment, her Mortal Realm garb ruffled like goose feathers, her hair bristling. The door slammed behind her, tinkling a neat row of cocktail glasses set along the sleek bar. She stood out in stark white in the dark, art deco interior of her and Hecate's penthouse. 

Hecate came into the open entrance space, from where she'd been flicking through Hephaestus' latest catalogue on the couch. A black, satin dressing gown gushed to the floor around her, rippling out like primordial mist, as she approached her partner with her usual sharp grace. She was head and shoulders taller than the slight huntress, and never failed to remind her of it, in her proud stance and slightly exaggerated bends to meet her eye or peck her face. She swept to Artemis, cupped her face and kissed her cheeks, one then the other. 

"You look like a cat that got its tail trodden on," she said with an amused twist to her mouth. 

Artemis glowered up at Hecate, her furious indigo blush flaring at the rim of her silver mask. "She dropped me into a tree!" she yapped. 

Hecate pressed her lips together to contain a laugh and plucked a twig from Artemis' tangled hair. "I can see that."

"Ugh!" Artemis cast her hands into the air and stalked past Hecate. "I don't see why Selene even needs us on the trips!" 

Hecate padded after Artemis, eying the angry swish of her ponytail with a smile. She followed her into the slate and chrome kitchen. Hecate perched elegantly on a bar stool, the gown wilting away off one long, sapphire leg. She leaned her pointed chin on her fist, still watching with a twinkle, as Artemis clunked about in the fridge. 

Artemis grabbed a bottle of orange juice and swigged straight from it, propping her elbow on the counter and scoffing. "Selene claims that she needs one of us riding the moon chariot with her to make sure the cycle stays in check, but I swear it's just that she wants an excuse to yammer on to someone." She swigged again and put on a floaty, whiny voice. "Endymion this and Endymion that. Endymion was so cute today. Endymion just gets her so much. Golly, she sure lucked out with Endymion. HE'S FUCKING ASLEEP!" 

Hecate snorted. 

"Like, seriously, what new anecdotes could you possibly have to share about your catatonic non-boyfriend? But turns out there's fucking loads!" 

Hecate chuckled. "I'll admit she is worse than those people who've just had a baby and want you to see every single one of the 906 nap photos."

"Right?" Artemis slammed the juice back into the fridge, rattling the plate of last night's cold pizza. "Nightmare!" 

"Love, I suppose." Hecate grinned like a crow. "Baffling."

"It's not love, Hex!" Artemis growled, "He's fucking furniture!" 

Hecate threw her head back in a harsh, melodic laugh. She stood and batted Artemis away from the fridge, fished out a tub of yoghurt and went to the counter. She plucked a ripe, ruby peach from a fat fruit bowl, laid out a chopping board, and set to dicing the peach in precise, surgical cuts. Her knife squelched and clicked, sticky sweetness drifted into the crisp air. 

"So what were you doing to fall out of the chariot?" she asked. 

"I did not  _ fall!"  _ Artemis huffed, crossing her arms, "I was  _ dropped. _ She was taking that awkward corner by Gemini and suddenly realised she hadn't checked Endymion's vitals before heading out. She freaked, swung round, bumped Castor's toe, like a log, and threw me off balance!" 

Hecate looked squarely into the slit of amber under her knife and let her bob sweep forward to hide her grin. "Sounds like you weren't hanging on and took a tumble."

"I shouldn't have to hang on!" Artemis railed, "She shouldn't be driving like a lunatic!" 

"I'm afraid Selene is, by nature, a  _ lun _ atic." Hecate flicked bright gold eyes to Artemis and smirked. 

Artemis pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. "You are not funny."

"I'm hilarious."

Hecate scraped the small cubes of peach into a bowl. She twisted the lid off the yoghurt and poured a thick dollop on top. She plucked a fork from a shallow drawer that disappeared smoothly into the kitchen's dark grey finish. She mixed the peach and yogurt together with a few rapid whisks. She slid a honey jar from a cupboard, dunked a teaspoon into it and drizzled the glistening bronze in a neat spiral over the mixture. 

She held the bowl out for Artemis. "There, have some breakfast. You're home now, it's all peaches and cream." 

Artemis took the bowl, eyebrow still arched. "This isn't cream, it's yogurt."

Hecate prodded her indignant, upturned nose. "Yoghurt is cream for gym bunnies."

Artemis sniffed like a hound. "I am not a gym bunny."

Hecate chuckled, took the fork, scooped a mouthful of the peach, and pushed it through Artemis' tight lips. Artemis chewed disdainfully. 

"Sure you're not, Jock." Hecate said, patting her plumped cheek.

She smiled at Artemis munching indignantly on the fruit, like an angry gerbil. She was leaning moodily on the kitchen counter with leaves in the chinks of her mail and a smudge of yoghurt on her cheek, her biceps rigid and round with tension, her smooth hair a thicket, her small feet crossed with her toes drumming agitatedly. She looked like a blackberry bush that a cat had just clambered through.

Hecate smiled broader. She reached out and hooked Artemis’ little finger with hers. “I was running a bath when you came stomping in. Want to join me?”

Artemis stopped mid-chew. Her large, almond eyes flicked to Hecate and darkened a little, a spray of stars lacing the pupils. The corner of Hecate’s mouth twisted.

Artemis puffed out through her nose. “You can have your bath, I don’t need taking care of.”

Hecate rolled her eyes and interlaced their fingers with a slight, warning squeeze. “No, but you want taking care of, and that’s fine.”

Artemis shrugged, scraping her fork around the bowl with a shrill squeak to catch the last cubes of peach. “I’m really fine, Hex, it’s not like I hurt myself.” She stuffed the fruit into her mouth.

Hecate made a feline grumble in her throat. Something between amusement and frustration nettled the small of her back. She tugged sharply on Artemis’ hand. Artemis hiccupped, as she stumbled against Hecate’s body, buffeting Hecate with Artemis’ earthy, zingy scent - a medley of the outdoors - dandelion, mint, willow, running brooks, sap. Hecate pulled the bowl from Artemis’ hand and thunked it onto the counter. She looped her arm around Artemis’ back and scratched her spine through the loose dress. She prickled pleasurably, as she saw Artemis’ face flicker between surprised hare and defiant stag, the stubborn goddess keeping her free hand wilfully off the seductive softness of the satin robe, as it stroked their legs. 

“If you’re not careful...” Hecate leaked a touch of gleeful menace into her deep voice, like droplets of barbeque sauce. “I will make you wear the pouty shirt.”

Artemis narrowed her eyes. Hecate knew her graceful neck would be flushed dark, inky indigo under her armoured collar. She eased her fingers a little deeper. 

“I am not wearing any of your weird, making-a-point garments.” Artemis insisted.

“You are pouting,” Hecate said.

“I am not.”

“You are.” Hecate ducked her head down and bumped the tip of her nose to Artemis’. “It makes your mouth look quite lovely.”

“Hex…” 

Artemis was cut off by a gently forceful kiss. Hecate scooped her closer, bringing her up to her mouth, pressing her slim lips to Artemis’ full, shining pout. Their fingers braided tighter together, the heel of Artemis’ hand fitting into Hecate’s palm. Hecate sneaked her tongue over Artemis’, smiling at how Artemis pushed eagerly against her. She tasted of marshmallow and dark chocolate. Hecate pulled back and ran her lips along Artemis’ cheek.

“Mmmm,” she purred, “Tastes like Selene made moon pies.”

Artemis’ hand finally surrendered and floated down. She made an undoingly adorable sound between a sigh and a whimper, when it met the cool satin over Hecate’s shoulders and ran down her slender arm. Her nimble fingers closed around the shape. 

“I have some still in my bag, which I might share. If you’re nice to me,” Artemis said coyly.

“Oh yeah, Sharp-Shooter?” Hecate nipped Artemis’ earlobe and pressed their hips together, “I intend to be so, very nice to you.”

*

Steam curled into the bathroom from the large, porcelain tub, filling Artemis’ senses with the fresh, green, citrus-tinged scent of the luxury, eucalyptus bubble bath. 

Moving in with Hecate had been an adventure in sensuality. Everything was leather and satin and velvet, mahogany and marble, fine cut jet and ground diamond, fresh flowers, rare spices, high quality, artisan ingredients in experimental dishes. She’d made fun of it at first. She dumped her duffle bag of polyester sports wear out on Hecate’s vast, midnight blue bedspread, and threatened to pollute the wardrobe with mass-produced fabric. She stared Hecate down, as she chopped parmesan with the chorizo knife. She turned first edition books upside down on the shelf. But, much like Hecate and her particular brand of cutting affection, this place grew on her. The Underworld’s cold became a soothing cool that mellowed Artemis after a hunt. The eerie light turned hypnotic. The opulence went from baffling and pretentious to a sort of permission to be distracted, to slow down and just enjoy. It was so full of refined detail and workmanship, so bursting with strange beauty, that it forced her to stop for it. Artemis had never really learned to stop before. She shovelled down quick meals, she jogged everywhere, she rushed between appointments and obligations and duties. Hecate’s world was sleep, it was dream, it was darkness. All she had to be here was present in the moment. All she had to be here was herself. 

Hecate padded, like a wolf, across the bathroom’s marble floor, black stone swirling into white, like smoke into cloud. Her robe whispered on the hard floor, harmonising with the hiss of running water. She dipped and turned off the bath tap, hushing the gurgling churn. She glanced back at Artemis with startling, gold sparkles in her eyes. Artemis warmed and felt her core tighten. She wrinkled her nose at her and poked her tongue out. Hecate chuckled and, keeping her back to her, slowly undid the ties of her satin gown. Artemis sucked on her lip. She plucked impatiently at the white, cotton sleeves of her own robe, eying the smooth angles of Hecate’s lithe body under the black glimmer, clinging to her shape, staying just loose enough to tease. 

Hecate glanced back again to check that Artemis was watching. 

Artemis pursed her lips at her. “You’re so cocky, assuming I’m staring at you.”

Hecate smirked. “Am I wrong, though?”

Artemis clucked her tongue. The steam drifted gossamer between them. The glitter of Hecate’s eyes wisped out into it, sparks crackling in the aftermath of fireworks.

Hecate dropped the robe. 

It rippled down to the marble and swirled around her feet, making her look like an elegant fountain pen dipping into ink. Artemis put her hand to her heating neck and felt her pulse pick up under her fingertips. Her eyes slid down the curve of Hecate’s spine and to the pert sculpt of her ass, then down her long, taut legs. Artemis sucked on her lower lip. 

Hecate sank into the tub, the steam whisking around her and veiling her shoulders and clinging to her hair in a soft glisten. She reclined back with a low, satisfied hum, rolling her shoulders and dropping her head onto the porcelain lip. Bubbles swarmed around her in a cauldron, concealing most of her, frothy white tinged duck egg blue by the mix of her skin and the eucalyptus essence. Her knees poked up out of the froth, at either side of the tub. Her legs were spread. Wide.

Artemis felt something strum her vertebrae and tickle the back of her neck. She slipped her robe off too, and hurried to the tub. The hot, soft swell of the water tenderly enveloped her sore body, as she lowered herself into the cradle of Hecate’s form. It coated her in warmth. She felt her tension flowing out into the lapping bath. The bubbles shushed, as she pushed them around her. She unfolded, leaning back against Hecate’s torso and stretching out her legs. Hecate’s breasts and belly padded against her back, cushioning her, flooding her with comfort, nudging a small ache between her legs. 

Hecate curled her arms around her and drew her closer. She nuzzled into her hair and spoke with something between sweetness and smugness. “There, doesn’t that feel better?”

Artemis snorted and tweaked Hecate’s thigh under the water. “There’s a good few moon pies on the line, I’ll have you know. Don’t rest on your laurels.”

Hecate barked an indignant laugh and squeezed Artemis’ arms. “I’ll have  _ you  _ know, my laurels haven’t seen rest in millennia.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. Lean forward and move your hair.”

Artemis smiled with a scheming tilt to the corner of her mouth. She reached back, rubbed Hecate’s neck, then flopped forward and drew her hair over one shoulder, leaving her back bare. Her straight tresses swept into the bubbles, like a dark waterfall kicking up a fray. Artemis heard the click of a bottle being opened. Her ears pricked like a hare’s. Her skin tingled.

Hecate took a dark green bottle from a low shelf running alongside the bath, stacked with neatly ordered gels and lotions. She popped the cap and poured a pool of marjoram oil into her palm. It was slick and warm, releasing a plume of herbal spice into the fragrant air. It gleamed, catching the dimmed, cool lights. She drizzled it between her palms, then laid her hands over Artemis’ shoulder blades. Artemis leaned into her touch instantly, taking a deep, indulgent breath that fit her back to Hecate’s touch, and passed a flow of energy into Hecate’s chest. Artemis’ skin was warm and smooth as glass from the steam. It gave Hecate the feeling of shaping volcanic crystal with her bare hands. She began to rub the oil into Artemis’ back in overlapping, circling, skating motions, pressing deep into the hard muscle, stroking light over bone and the slivers of fat on her lean frame. 

She moulded Artemis like clay, chasing the aches from her body and mapping the shape of her in her mind. She could never know Artemis too well. She slid her hands up over her shoulders and glided her thumbs up and down the back of her neck. Artemis’ head dropped forward heavily. Water lapped their sides, kissing their bodies softly, as they swayed a little in a relaxed push and pull. For two goddesses that moved in such different ways, they fell easily into sync. 

Hecate took a deep breath, the steam clinging to her nose and glazing her eyes. She gazed down the flute of Artemis’ back, her narrow shoulders sloping into her strong torso. She felt Artemis’ hips move between her thighs. Hecate warmed even more than the bath. The oil coated her hands and mixed with the water, making her touch slippery. She curled her fingers into Artemis’ dense, tactile muscle to keep her traction. Hecate’s eyes roved to the jet shine of her hair, to the ripples pulsing out from her waist, to the dip in the nape of her neck. She leaned forward and kissed it. Artemis sighed and relaxed against her lips.

Artemis, more than anyone, had that quality in her that Hecate was drawn to with irresistible magnetism. It was what had drawn her to Hades and to Demeter and Persephone, had brought them under the iron wing of her friendship, that great swooping shield, like the soothing balm of night after a blinding, arid sunset. They were Pack. They made close units, they protected people, they were hard to win, but impossible to lose, loyal, warm, ferocious. Artemis had taken Persephone into her home without question, had given her freedom, protection, guidance, without obligation, without even a thought of return. She’d made mistakes. She’d learned. She’d grown. She’d always cared, even when Persephone was angry, even when they couldn’t understand each other, she had never withdrawn her protection. Hecate had seen it all unfold from too great a distance to truly understand the ins and outs. But one thing had rung clear. Artemis had impressed her. She impressed her every day. Artemis could be the best of them all. She knew it. 

She had invited Artemis to take on lunar work because she’d seen her dedication, but there was something more. Artemis brought balance. The sky to Persephone’s earth, the control to Hermes’ chaos, the pride to Apollo’s shame… Best not to think about him. Artemis desired balance. Most people didn’t see it, she was hot-headed and single-minded and it made Olympus assume that she was short-sighted and out for herself, like the rest of them. But Hecate couldn’t think of a single time that Artemis had truly acted for herself. She sheltered the vulnerable, she opened her house to friends, even when it broke her own rules, she was loyal to TGOEM beyond what they’d earned, she agonised over small problems, she avoided politics, she kept her mortals and nymphs and even her pets close and managed. Artemis was a natural linchpin. Everything she did was to hold the world together, while it resolutely tried to fall apart. Hecate had been born in the time when balance was an intrinsic part of nature, not artificially created by the struggles between divine egos. When she was near Artemis, she felt the thrumming satisfaction of that old, cosmic motion. The huntress stirred that deep, ancient part of her, reminded her who she was.

She trickled another pool of oil into her palm.

Artemis felt the long night fray and fade, as Hecate’s hands glided over her. Hecate pressed deep, her touch sinking into her, so Artemis could feel her at her centre. Hecate unknotted her shoulders, kneaded the small of her back, poured the strength back into her arms. The oil balmed her back, wrapping her in a protective coat, like honey on a wound. The spiced, dark marjoram and the light zing of eucalyptus muddled in her senses and made her mouth water. Her eyes rolled back to take in the warm, misty light, then closed softly. She exhaled long and slow. The rough chariot ride flowed from her body into the water. 

Hecate’s hands slid to her sides and pulled gently. Artemis slid on the floor of the tub and reclined back against her cushioned body. The water lapped her, the steam wreathed her, Hecate’s warmth blending with the warmth of the room. 

She drifted half to sleep. 

Hecate’s hands ran over her belly and up to her breasts. Artemis’ eyes fluttered open, as Hecate’s fingers traced over her nipples. Her skin sparked. Her breath caught. 

Hecate’s mouth ducked to her ear. “Just relax, Arty.”

Hecate’s clever fingers rubbed her nipples rhythmically, circling and rolling them to hard points, slipping down to the undersides of her breasts and cupping and squeezing gently. Pleasure scurried over Artemis’ body. Hecate’s touch was lazy and confident, Artemis could so easily give herself over to it. Brush up, skate down, scoop, squeeze, cradle, flicker. Hecate lavished slow, varied attention on Artemis’ breasts, artfully kindling her nipples to life, then letting them calm, as she spread the intense point of pleasure around her flesh. Artemis felt a writhing ache rise gradually in her clit. She tried to suppress it, to ignore it, but Hecate’s lips padded down her neck and it flared hotter. She stretched her neck out and sighed high. She felt Hecate smile against her skin. She twisted her own falling hair in her hands. Her hips scooped needily, sloshing water around them. 

Hecate’s hands slid down her abs. They vanished under the surface of the bath. They rested just above the crown of dark hair and stroked back and forth, bringing her to the boil. Artemis wriggled and bit her lip. She dropped her head back and opened her mouth, like a baby bird asking to be fed. Hecate’s tongue snared hers. They kissed deeply, their lips gumming together in the steam. 

Hecate’s hand moved the final inch. 

Her fingers folded over Artemis’ pussy. She began to massage with her whole hand, welling pleasure between Artemis’ thrumming thighs. Artemis groaned and nipped Hecate’s lip. Water spilled over them again, as her hips bucked into the satisfying pressure. Hecate was usually the most wicked tease, but now she cocooned Artemis in ease and generosity. She let Artemis’ writhing guide her hand, caressing each ache as it flared. Artemis raked her fingers into Hecate’s hair with one hand and stroked her thigh with the other, pulling her leg in to encase her closer. She nestled into the safe cage of her body. The water pulsed over Artemis, intensifying the waves of pleasure that pulsed up her from Hecate’s expert motion. She coiled her tongue on Hecate’s and sighed in surrender.

Hecate parted her fingers and slid them between Artemis’ labia, pinching her clit between them gently and ploughing into the deep, tender folds. The blood pounded in Artemis’ clit, held there by Hecate’s soft pinch. The wonderful ache rose, ready to burst. She rolled her body hard, water cascaded off the two of them and spattered the marble floor. Hecate’s other hand returned to Artemis’ nipple, strumming it, the water and residue of oil taking any stinging friction away and purifying the pleasure. Artemis’ belly squirmed, the two pools of pleasure in her breast and pussy flowed in a river to her core, filling her, wrapping her. She glanced dreamily past Hecate’s cheek to a spray of flourishing, white lilies nodding from a vase on a low shelf. Their heady perfume spilled a new drug into the cloying air. The dance of their petals through the mist mesmerised her.

Hecate’s tongue flickered just below her ear. Her middle finger burrowed into the maze of Artemis’ clit and massaged the swelling flesh, the pleasure rising, harshening, stopping her breath. Artemis’ body began to surge into the water. She softened under the soothing massage, then melted into pleasure. Hecate drew her fingertips up to press onto her peak and circled. Artemis gasped. She clutched Hecate’s hair and steered her back to her mouth, moaning onto her tongue. Artemis snaked against Hecate’s body, summoning a firmer press to her clit. She rocked her hips, beckoning, the water making sucking and slapping noises on their undulating flesh, as they moved together. 

Hecate clamped Artemis in her thighs. She flattened her hand over her labia, worked her until she was panting in high squeaks into her mouth and her knees were trembling, then pressed her clit again. Hard.

A violent shake shot through Artemis, splashing and rippling the water. Steam was cast up from her body, infused with oil and clean sweat from the rising, boiling heat. She felt like a lobster in a kettle. Her muscles stayed relaxed and eased, but small spasms thrummed through them, as the pleasure rose intensely in her flesh.

Hecate kissed her ardently.

Hecate clasped her breast and plucked her nipple.

Hecate rubbed her clit rapidly.

Her sly fingertips were silken in the lubrication of the water, it spun the pleasure wildly in Artemis’ body. No pain. No friction. No ache. Just a single, high, silver note of desire and pleasure. It rose and rose, melodic in her nerves, whistling in her flesh, moonlight and summer rain and the rush of air in the night sky.

It broke.

It gushed through her. It cast every last ache from her body. More than that, in a moment if intense clarity, Artemis knew she would never ache again. It cleansed her, purged her, invigorated her. She moaned and growled and snarled and sighed. She grasped Hecate’s hair, crushed her mouth to hers, gripped her thigh like a vice, twisted and jerked, whipping up a whirlpool in the bath. She could feel Hecate beaming against her lips, clutching her close, holding her steady. The steam turned to thick, fragrant fog with their heat.

The water sloshed still.

Artemis collapsed in the tub up to her chin, her head falling back on Hecate’s belly. The warmth and comfort and relief washed over her, enveloped her. 

Hecate chuckled, bouncing Artemis’ pillow, rippling the water. She stroked Artemis’ damp hair from her forehead. “See, Sharp-Shooter? It’s nice to be taken care of sometimes.”

*

The TV chattered away in the living room. Its light blared into the dim, cosy space and flickered on Hecate and Artemis’ faces. They curled up together on the vast, dark couch in their pyjamas - Artemis’ cotton deer-print shorts and Hecate’s luxuriant black silk. A half-eaten plate of moon pies sat on the coffee table, with two glasses of burgundy wine. The movie was some garish horror. A lamia slithered through a forest, blood dripping from her chin, while poorly recorded screams played in the distance.

“Do you think Selene’s alright? With Furniture Man as most of her company?” Artemis asked around a blob of marshmallow.

Hecate shrugged, shifting Artemis’ head on her breast. “Guess so. She’s got us by night. When she’s not tipping us into trees, that is.” She chortled and squeezed Artemis’ shoulders.

Artemis wrinkled her nose. “She doesn’t tip you into trees. Just me.”

Hecate smirked. She leaned forward, taking Artemis with her, and plucked a moon pie. She padded it to Artemis’ lips. Artemis took a bite and chewed with her gerbil pout again. Hecate bit into the other half of the moon pie. Dark chocolate and sweet, sticky marshmallow gummed on her tongue.

“You’re clearly too easy to throw off balance,” Hecate said. 

“Well,” Artemis sighed, looping her arm over Hecate’s waist and snuggling into her body, “That’s probably all thanks to you, Hex.”

Hecate warmed. She scooped Artemis closer. She hovered the moon pie in front of Artemis’ mouth. Artemis parted her lips. Hecate whipped it back and popped it between her fine teeth. Artemis sat bolt upright, half grinning, half glaring. Hecate felt a pleasing wriggle in her gut.

“What?” she asked innocently through the crumble of gram crackers in her mouth.

Artemis snorted, snatched up a moon pie, and lunged to stuff it into Hecate’s mouth. Hecate squawked and batted at her, rolling on the couch like an overturned turtle and cackling maniacally. Her strong arms shot out and caught Artemis’ wrists, while Artemis shoved her onto her back and loomed over her. They hooted and squealed like hyenas, pummelling each other with cushions, smearing marshmallow over each other’s mouths. Ease and joy and the tenderness of home hummed in their bodies.

The TV cut to commercials.

Far above them, in another world, the sun rose. But it couldn’t disturb them here.


End file.
